


I Love You, Francis

by IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore



Series: Miss Ashtoreth & Mr. Fell Have a Torrid Affair [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (no actual people are being cheated on in the fic’s reality), Aziraphale as Brother Francis and A Handsome Stranger, Bathing/Washing, But We're Not In Fluff Territory ... Yet?, Crowley as Nanny Ashtoreth, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasies of Infidelity, Fantasy, Gratuitous Use of Queen Songs, Nipple Licking, PWP, Roleplay, Romance, Romance-Induced Boners, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Vaginal Sex, We're Getting More Romantic This Time Folks, female!Crowley, male!Aziraphale, no clothing was ruined in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore/pseuds/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore
Summary: Something has to change in Crowley and Aziraphale's storyline of Mrs. Ashtoreth and Brother Francis' marriage.Neither knew that it would come to them while they were in the bath together.





	I Love You, Francis

Night at the Dowling estate meant peace. Brother Francis wouldn’t have to be back in action until sometime next morning, so Aziraphale was sunk into the armchair in the cottage, reading by a fire that had gone out long ago, but which he was too lazy to rekindle even with his powers. It was during a particularly riveting passage in his E. M. Forster novel that the door creaked open and the sound of sensible heels stepped over the threshold.

Aziraphale didn’t look up from his paragraph, but he heard the sounds of Crowley struggling out of her clammy gloves and lace-up boots in the hallway. Sunglasses clinked against the little stand out there. A hat was tossed at the hat-rack, and missed, but was not collected. Then the sound of stockinged feet walked to the bathroom, turning on the tap for the tub. His nose soon picked up the scent of pine and lavender wafting from the bathroom. Then the feet re-entered the living room, standing around doing something his ears couldn’t discern. 

“Angel?” 

“Hm..?” Aziraphale was still partially invested in Forster’s words, but finally looked up at Crowley, who was standing with her arms uncomfortably twisted around her back. 

“Would you help me?” She had a stray strand of her hair hanging in front of her frowning face, making Aziraphale think she was almost desperate. 

“Of course, my dear.” The book was placed face-down on the arm of the chair and Aziraphale swung his feet off the ottoman to go to her. 

Standing right behind her, he inspected the issue at hand. The zipper started at the top of Crowley’s high collar and went down to her waist, and it looked thoroughly stuck between her shoulder-blades. He gently tugged at it, getting it to unzip again so he could remove her dress, helping her out of her tight-fitted long sleeves as well. 

“The French bastards who made this frock apparently hate the human body and want to see the wearers suffer.” Crowley hissed while shimmying the skirts over her legs. 

“It’s really a marvel how uncomfortable clothing can get for the sake of fashion, considering that we have to wear them every day.” Aziraphale helped lay the dress aside while Crowley grappled with her garters. 

“That’s what’s so baffling! They’re digging their own trenches of destruction — or... something...” Crowley got lost in the metaphor while focusing on removing her discreet black pearl earrings. 

Aziraphale stayed put, thinking about the warming fact that Crowley really hadn’t needed him to do these things. Crowley could’ve easily magicked her clothes off. He unbuttoned his own top-button. “Uh, didn’t _you _invent the infinitesimally small pockets in women’s jeans?” 

Crowley looked at him half-way over her shoulder in a non-committing way. “That was different — _so _different! At least we still _have_ pockets. All those other women should be grateful the corset isn’t still in fashion. That one was a stroke of genius I can’t take credit for. Would you —?” Crowley ended her short rant by gesturing at the clasp of her bra. 

“Oh — yes.” Aziraphale was mostly flustered because every time he had to open Crowley’s bra, his fingers seemed to grow a few sizes. There was a good reason why he usually miracled it open. He tried to do it manually this time, getting it on the third try, a new record. He slid the light garment over her shoulders while Crowley groaned quietly in gratitude. It had dug into the place around her ribs, leaving little temporary grooves in her back. Aziraphale smoothed a hand over the lines, healing them ever so subtly. Crowley groaned again with a different type of relief. 

She turned and slipped the last of her undergarments off, tossing it to the pile of her discarded clothes. “Thank you.” She shot him a smile before removing the last foreign item on her, the clasp in her hair, and sauntered back into the bathroom. The sound of running water stopped. The portable radio started up and ‘Killer Queen’ came on in tinny-sounding waves. Aziraphale undid another button in his shirt. 

Though Aziraphale had felt compelled by the Forster book before, his sharp ears were elsewhere. They listened to Crowley slipping into the bathtub with another long exhale of relief. The water could be heard running off her as she probably ladled it over her hair and face with her hands. It only took a few minutes before Aziraphale put the book down again. Forster's delightful prolixity could wait for this. 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale standing in the doorway, naturally, as if she had been expecting him. She was removing her makeup while in the water, being mid-rub of her left eyelid when he entered. “Hey. What’s up?” 

“Do you have room for one more in there?” 

Crowley secretly loved it when Aziraphale was being smooth. She hid it with a grin. “Why don’t you try and see?” 

Aziraphale didn’t care for manual removal of clothing at this moment; in a wave of his hand, his form was naked and stepping forward carefully, feeling some excess water on the tiles. It would be a horrible time to slip and injure his body. 

Aziraphale inched down into the water with his eyes closed to savor the cleansing feeling. The bath was one of the better human inventions, probably in the top ten. Up there with hot cocoa and the hardback edition, definitely. And the claw-footed tub in the cottage was a beautiful model, as well as a roomy tub, though it might have been magic which kept the water a perfect temperature at all times. He leaned his neck over the rim in his end, so that he faced Crowley. Though the tub was roomy, Aziraphale still had to have his legs curled up to not infringe on Crowley’s space. 

Crowley finished taking her eyeshadow off, so she threw the dirty cotton balls over her shoulder. “What’re you doing all the way over there?” She beckoned him, though in an un-demanding way. She made the universal gesture for ‘come here’ with her hand, though not in the way you’d see an agitated Italian fella do when he is about to comb you for insulting his family, but — softer. 

“Crowley, there’s no room, I’ll just be in the way.” 

“Turn. Go on.” She kept gesturing. 

So Aziraphale turned, though he let Crowley’s hands do the rest of the work with guiding him toward her. Her hands were slung around him so that he was held close with his back to her chest, his head resting on her shoulder, her legs to either side of him so that he now could stretch out too. Crowley's warmed body was wonderful around him, Aziraphale almost melted in that water with her. She smoothed his hair with the water running off her fingers and had her other hand protectively resting on his chest. Every time either one of them moved, water sloshed over the side of the tub; it was slightly over-filled, but not for long, apparently. 

Aziraphale looked at the hand holding him, he dove one of his own underneath it to bring them both over the surface. He looked at Crowley’s hand, studying the grooves and the design of the veins. “You had your nails redone?” 

“Surprised you noticed.” Crowley leaned her head onto his. “It’s ‘Malice’.” 

“Oh — wasn’t ‘Devil May Care’ doing it for you?” He smoothed his fingers over the even, glossy coating. 

“Nah, I thought I’d switch it up. It was either this one or ‘Temptress’, ‘Succubus’, ‘Whore of Babylon’ or ‘Red Apple’.” 

Aziraphale hummed, thoughtful. “Wonder why nail polish CEO’s all name their vampy shades such things.” 

“I dunno — all I know is that it’s the work of those French bastards again, the ones over at _Laboratoire__Garniér_, or _Chanel_, or _L’Oreal_ —” Crowley made her worst drawling mock French voice, making Aziraphale chuckle. 

The radio still softly played, now transitioning to ‘Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy’, apparently tapping into an unknown channel. “Do you think Mrs. Ashtoreth would wear something like that?” Aziraphale still held her hand in his already-pruney fingers. 

“Nah. She's probably more into something like this,” Crowley’s nails bloomed into a subtle, but bland, nude shade. Aziraphale nodded, though slowly and not too much, as it was hard to do when Crowley was leaning her face to his head. 

He let their hands float back in the water. “Wouldn’t her husband be home at an hour like this, do you think?” 

“Well, what if he is?” Crowley pressed a kiss, almost chaste, to his temple. 

“I imagine he would be rather startled upon finding his wife in the bath with a stranger — though not a stranger to her, of course.” Aziraphale smiled at the intriguing thought. 

“No, but, angel; what if he _is?_” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s _you_. And he’s at home, relaxing, — with his wife.” Crowley left another small kiss on Aziraphale’s wet hairline. “All they want is to enjoy a bath together after a demanding day. They haven’t done anything like that in ages. And — who knows, maybe they rekindle some of that romance they lost so many years back.” 

“Francis and Mrs. Ashtoreth figure it out in the end, then? They learn to be happy together at last.” Aziraphale turned between Crowley’s legs, ending up very closely face to face with her. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t already somewhat hard from mere affection, and now Aziraphale was too close to Crowley again, his erection was weightlessly touching her thigh. 

“Yeah. I was thinking of giving them another chance. She could talk to him, understand what he’s — going through. And he could listen to her, when she tells him about her desires. He could learn.” Crowley’s hands went behind Aziraphale’s shoulders to lie lazily around him. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Crowley, are you — are you telling me you want Brother Francis tonight?” 

Crowley pulled a tight face and made a questioning sound. “No! Or — just not with the face. Or the voice. Or the clothes. But — yes.” Which was a complicated way for Crowley to ask Aziraphale to just be himself. 

A moment of silence(save for Freddie’s singing, “Say the word / Your wish is my command...”) built some tension. Aziraphale opened his mouth. 

“My darling … I hadn’t realized you’d been so lonely.” 

Crowley subtly slipped into her Ashtoreth voice, “I’ve just missed you so much, Francis. I miss your affections. And I'd like it if we could —” She played up Ashtoreth’s bashfulness, even when she barely had any eyelashes to bat at him with. 

“Tell me, my love. I need to know.” Aziraphale’s hands went up to cup her face, her cheeks feeling unusually warm in his hands. 

“If we could — be together again. Tonight, we could try again.” She turned her face in his hands, coming closer. All she wanted was a kiss, and Aziraphale would give it to her, one as gentle as Francis and as deep as Fell. 

He pressed her ever so slightly against the tub so that he could be closer to her, his impressively hard cock pressed to her now but in no way about to enter anywhere. It was more about the kiss, about showing his wife how serious he was. 

When she broke away for a moment, she whispered to his lips, “I love you, Francis,” and they kissed again, and again while slipping a bit around in the tub, making waves in the water. 

Eventually, Aziraphale pulled away in order to get up and out and reach for a towel. He held it out for her, letting her stand up in the water so he could wrap it lightly around her, pulling her back in for a kiss. With a bit of finesse and a quick move, Aziraphale managed to sweep Crowley up, with a grip around her legs and a grip around her shoulders, she went up and into his arms. 

The bed dipped as Crowley was laid down on it, with Aziraphale lying himself down beside her. The towel was unwrapped, thrown to the floor, and they could now lie beside one another, face to love-ridden face. Aziraphale combed some wet hairs from Crowley’s face with his fingers, she dove down to kiss his palm once done. His hand was cautious when it kissed down her neck, following her breasts, until his mouth was doing the kissing. He experimentally lapped at her nipple, though he knew the response he would get as Crowley’s fingers tangled in his damp hair. 

Their legs seemed to also tangle together, Aziraphale’s cock was once more pressed to Crowley, though this time he was twitching against her lips. Even though it was no optimal angle they were laying in, his cock was where it should be, at least until Crowley’s hand guided his head to her properly. He slipped in only as far as the glans, so both of them could savor the feeling as they had savored the bath earlier, before letting his hips do the rest of the work. 

It was somehow perfect having Aziraphale up to the hilt in Crowley, not moving much at all, his mouth still around her taut nipple, his tongue working around her as if it were her clit. Crowley spoke nothing other than her relaxed sounds of gratitude, she simply slipped a finger down to rub where Aziraphale couldn’t reach. 

The unusual circumstances meant that Aziraphale came from so little, feeling hypersensitive after everything that had transpired, he was whimpering into completion after an unknown amount of time had passed, he finally shuddered into Crowley while his lips were still around her nipple, not intending to leave. There was no rush to pull out, Aziraphale decided to stay and keep licking Crowley until she couldn’t take it anymore. 

Within languid time, Crowley found herself at a gentle orgasm, a flutter of kisses and touches all at once, stretching her for an ethereal minute. She'd found something new with Aziraphale, but she hadn’t realized that yet. 

Aziraphale didn’t go anywhere, instead he pulled her closer, one warm, damp body to another and a jumble of wet red hair everywhere, which Crowley was trying to salvage and tame where-ever she could reach. Aziraphale helped finger-comb her hair in place but ended up being more interested in caressing the sigil engraved near her cheekbone. Crowley looked at him, finding his fixation amusing. 

“Angel, I thought we had agreed from the start that Francis was completely inept in the _carnal embrace_ department.” 

“Re-writes are inevitable in the world of theater, aren’t they?” He smiled smugly and was rewarded a nudge on the arm from Crowley. 

“Well, it was a bit spur of the moment. I quite liked it, to be honest.” Crowley blew air out of her lips while thinking about something. “But I wouldn’t like to think what happens when Francis finds out about Mr. Fell, though. I’d think there’s going to be a beating of one type or another.” 

“Yes — but who receives? And who wins?” 

“Well, you can’t very well beat up yourself, angel.” 

“... Oh — I’m — Crowley, I don’t think that’d be such a good idea. Or, I don’t know. I don’t know if I'm cut out for that sort of thing.” Aziraphale pictured something he wished wasn’t making him hard again, as he still had Crowley around him. She felt him twitch inside her, but she chose to keep that to herself for now. 

“I can take a beating from you, alright. Just as long as you kiss it better.” Crowley pulled a genuine smile. “And you can get to decide who wins.” 

The radio faded out and back into the next track, ‘I Want to Break Free’. Crowley waved her hand lazily and started up the fireplace again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the ending foreshadowed the direction this might be going(provided I have the creative energy and ideas to continue the series), but until then: thank you to everyone who has read through these, I am high with joy at all the comments and lovely words people have left on the two other works, and I hope you'll tune in again if I do write more. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this and I hope you will comment if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear 'em !


End file.
